Art. 

The man, who knew how to look at the sky
Notice the peculiarity of time passing by
Feel the depth of words in verse
Savour the lights and sounds in rehearse

One who never saw the mountains high
Yet spoke of its beauty, acquainted with each stone in its might
Didn’t see paintings as just work on the wall,
Music as an alibi for boredom at all

For he had his own outlook to the world
Nevertheless different, yet completely unheard of
Art was his muse, and words his weapon
A new perspective, awaiting a take over the cosmos.


One, Two, Three!

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